Read Conversations With the Fat Girl Online
Authors: Liza Palmer
Olivia has been in town for a whole day and hasn't called. Maybe she was
just a voice in my head-a very tangible well-dressed psychotic episode.
I call her cell phone and leave another message. In the back of my mind,
I am excited to tell someone about Domenic. But I stop myself. Here she
is getting married to a cardiologist from Washington, DC. While I roll
up with my ?cute crush?: a twenty-eight-year-old busboy who lives in a
loft with four roommates. I begin to hyperventilate. I will be undone by
my own second-guessing. I call the two prospective landlords back. Once
again, I am practically drawn and quartered for owning such a wild beast
as a seventy-pound dog. I try not to analyze the CD like the other
gifts. No listening
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to each lyric as if it were a declaration of love. I can't do that with
this one. I have to remind myself that this CD is probably what all the
other gifts have turned out to be: an affirmation of friendship. Nothing
more. As I listen to the CD, I smile when I know the song. A couple are
new to me. Most aren't that meaningful, and some are so underground punk
rock they're barely enjoyable. I am packing up the bathroom when I hear
it, the hidden track of the hidden-track compilation. It's a whispery
ballad. I stop, my face in the depths of the cabinet. I know this band.
I don't know this song. Should I read into this? Is this just another
friendly misunderstanding? Or is this Domenic metaphorically leaning
over and kissing me? I walk toward the CD player; the number on the
digital face is 99. I don't want to touch anything, afraid I will never
be able to hear this beautiful song again. tf I were to one time ask for
what I want maybe I would receive it as the days go by and by and by I
learn not to ask So I will never get Shown anything or at least anything
that will hurt me. . I stare at the CD player, toilet brush in one hand,
my heart in the other.
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Oh, Dr. Farrell, You Are Too Much
When I was a junior in high school, I missed having a boyfriend by five
minutes. Olivia and I made our usual daily stop at the local ice cream
store. Olivia went in without me, because I couldn't find my wallet.
While I searched the depths of my 1984 Chevy Chevette, Olivia went
inside to begin the detailed process of ordering. Unbeknownst to me,
Owen Lynch, my new high school crush alter The John Sheridan had been
unmasked that fateful night, was talking to Shannon Shimasaki, our
perpetual nemesis She worked behind the counter at the ice cream store.
When Olivia walked in, Shannon began, for some unknown reason, grilling
her about who I liked. Olivia, always the weak one, gave up that I had a
crush on the one and only Owen Lynch Shannon howled with laughter and
turned to ask Owen if he would ever consider dating me. Owen Lynch said,
?Maybe.?That's the closest I've ever come to having a real boyfriend.
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As I stand with the toilet brush in one hand and Domenic's lyrics
echoing in my head, the phone rings. ?Hello??I'm breathless as I answer.
I can't believe the lyrics I just heard. ?Hey, girl. Where have you
been??It's Olivia. I can hear clinks and laughter behind her. ?At
work,?I say. ?Come meet us for a late dinner.? Olivia takes an audible,
but genteel sip of her drink. ?Sure.?I look down at myself. I am wearing
my ?favorite outfit,?still holding the brush. Cleaning up to go for
drinks seems an impossible feat. ?Okay then, hurry up, and can you bring
over that list we made when I was out there about a year ago. Remember?
We wrote locations for my wedding on the back of that napkin from El
Coyote. I put little hearts and stars around city hail. I want to show
Adam how it came true.?She puts her hand over the receiver while she
retells the story to Adam as I hold . . . panicking. I haven't seen that
napkin in months. After we hang up, I pull out the shoe boxes of
pictures from the day before. Thank God, there is the crumpled napkin
among our old school photos. Olivia and I went out to dinner at El
Coyote in Los Angeles the night she told me Adam proposed. That was the
night she asked me to be her maid of honor. I must have kept the napkin
as a token of the occasion. I take a shower and put on a pair of black
pants and pull a white V-neck T-shirt from my hamper. I find myself
bringing the shirt cautiously up to my nose to gauge the odor. It
passes. I put it on. I pull on my long black sweater and convince myself
it will be air-conditioned in the restaurant because I'm already hot
from wearing too many clothes in the summertime heat. Olivia and Adam
are at a table for two in the corner of the restaurant. I tell the
hostess I am meeting friends and walk over
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to the intimate table. Olivia is wearing an off-white peasant top with
linen pants. She has on large gold hoop earrings, and her hair is in its
usual mussed state of perfection. She has added a jeweled barrette
(pink), which pulls a tiny portion back from her face. She has gotten
even smaller since I've last seen her, putting her somewhere near a
weight even Hollywood would consider thin. 1 smile more widely than I
have in weeks. Just seeing her calms me and makes me feel at home. I
feel the hostess's eyes on me as she looks around to see why no one has
brought a chair for me. Olivia jumps up as I approach. I see Adam
dabbing his chin and rising behind her. I imagine there is a golden glow
around him this evening. She calls the hostess back and asks for a
chair. Adam is wearing a pressed oxford cloth shirt and khaki dress
pants. He is wearing woven leather loafers. The hostess brings me a tiny
brittle looking wooden chair and sits it at the table. Olivia hugs me
and asks if I found parking, did I bring the napkin, and how work was
all in a span of three seconds. Adam reaches across the table and shakes
my hand. His hands are baby soft and smallish. The busboy brings
flatware and a plate for my dinner, moving aside the centerpiece and a
finished appetizer of some kind of grilled asparagus. I am tempted to
introduce the busboy as my boy friend just to see how it flies. I decide
against it. ?How long have you guys been in town?? I ask, settling in
and shuddering at the deafening creaks emanating from my gingerbread
prop chair. I am starving and eye the remnants of the asparagus. ?We
flew in yesterday morning. Olivia and I are staying at the Ritz.? Adam
is pulling his cell phone from its holster and examining the numbers.
?Have you spoken to the event planner??I ask. ?She meeting us there
tomorrow morning. Will you come?
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You always know exactly what I'm talking about and I just don't think
that bitch understands me sometimes. This whole Italian cafélight thing
has been a disaster. I just can't imagine Olivia trails off, taking a
slow sip of her martini. I think that is the most she'll be
?eating?tonight. ?Sure. I work tomorrow night, so that'll work.? The
waitress approaches as Olivia and Adam order their dinners. I haven't
even looked at a menu. I pick up one of the two menus and study it as
everyone, in turn, studies me-except the waitress, who can't take her
eyes off Adam. I order the chicken with a diet soda. Adam sips his red
wine and looks around the restaurant while I try to situate myself so
there will be no more chair creaking. I have positioned myself so all my
weight sits toward the front of the chair and a little to the left. The
rest of my weight is distributed on the table, where I am pressing my
elbows furtively One wrong move and the whole thing could topple over. I
am so globally uncomfortable, I hear nothing but the creaks of the chair
and the teetering of martini and wineglasses. ?So how do you like
Pasadena??I ask Adam. ?Charming. I always enjoy visiting Olivia's mother
and seeing the place my girl grew up. She really is a treasure.? ?Oh,
Dr. Farrell, you are too too much.?Olivia turns bright red, giggles
quietly and lifts her hand to cover her mouth. Are they making fun of
someone right now? Is there a couple behind me who actually act like
this-and are we going to take turns mocking their Victorian courtship
traditions? I scan the restaurant for a man in a top hat or perhaps a
woman's parasol leaning against a booth. Confused, and a little
disappointed at not finding such specimens, I turn back to Olivia and
Adam as the reality hits me. This is how they act together. ?What? What
is it, honey??Olivia continues as Adam is now patting his napkin on his
chin in disgust.
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?Just ... will you . . . just look??Adam is staring at a booth at the
far end of the restaurant. I am horrified as I turn. Olivia gasps. A
slight man is looking on as his wife slides out of their booth. Her
stomach is sitting on top of and below the table for a
sliding-glass-door effect. Her napkin is still perched on her large
bosom, and she is nervously laughing for she has-horror of
horrors-become stuck in the booth. She is trying to push the table
forward, but it is bolted to the floor. As she pushes, the booth behind
her is being rocked back and forth. The young man in the booth gets out
and asks if he can help her in any way. Acting oblivious, the woman's
husband, now on his cell phone, moves out of the restaurant. The woman's
laughs are becoming more and more hysterical as she sees her husband
leaving. The young man waves down the waitress, who tells him if they
just push the booth back, the woman will be freed. The woman yanks the
napkin off her breasts and looks down on herself. I can't watch anymore.
I know that look. I know that moment. She is promising herself she will
never eat again, and this is the day she will begin her new exercise
regimen. ?Ridiculous,?Adam whispers. ?What?? Olivia leans in, smoothing
her shirt down over her flat stomach. 'How does a woman allow herself to
get like that? That is the manifestation of what has gone wrong in this
country I shudder at what her heart looks like right now.? He sips his
wine. If Dr. Farrell wants to call me fat, he should just come right out
and fucking say it. ?Yeah.?Olivia's voice is breathy as she lifts her
martini glass and swirls the olive around. The restaurant is abuzz with
the goings on of the past fifteen minutes. I look over once again at
Olivia. In a moment of pure
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fear, she catches my eye and I understand. I knew Adam didn't know to
what extent Olivia had battled her weight. I thought he knew about the
surgery and the complete metamorphosis of the past five years. Now I
realize he has no idea how big Olivia was. That woman could have been
Olivia without the bypass surgery The evening ends, and Olivia and I
make plans to meet at the city hall gardens at ten thirty the next
morning. Adam is meeting a colleague early for some ?time on the links.?
I wave good-bye to him and hug Olivia one last time. She is tiny I feel
her bones as I hug her and cringe. My best friend is wasting away and
loving every minute of it.
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Domenic's Underpants
I have always dreamed of getting married in a mountain cabin with the
snow falling outside. It would be a small family affair, close and warm,
lit by firelight and candles. We would invite everyone for a holiday
party and surprise them all with our nuptials He would cry as he vowed
his love to me, thinking secretly that he never thought life could be
this beautiful. I would look at him and know this is the person I'm
going to he with forever That I never have to he alone again. Should it
worry me that even in my fantasy, the man is getting married for love
hut I just don't want to he alone anymore? I stop for coffee and meet
Olivia on the steps of city ball at 10:30 am. She is wearing 1940s-style
pants that button on the side. Her white-and-pink polka-dot top is
fluttering in the wind of the morning; her tanned, flat stomach is
visible with every other whispery breeze. Pasadena City Hall, built in
1927, was fashioned in the style of sixteenth-century Italian architect
Andrea Palladio. Using building materials such as Alaskan marble,
vertical-grained
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white oak, Cordova clay tile for the roof, and fish-scale tile for I he
massive dome, the city hail serves as a focal point for the en- lire
city The gardens have a Spanish Colonial feel to them, but he eye is
drawn to the huge cast-stone baroque fountain in the exact center.
Around the garden, paths of crushed granite set .ipart flower beds
bursting with hydrangeas, azaleas, and hundreds upon thousands of
annuals that are rotated throughout ike year. Needless to say, it's not
your average suburban city hall. ?She's late,? Olivia greets me. ?Ifs